The first time someone asked for a doughnut, I thought they were teasing. The sixth? Maybe a fraternity, and it was some kinda joke. The ninth time, I was glad I’d practised my hundreds-and-thousands.
I hung doughnut flash. Marie brought in replicas, for the window display.
I tattooed a few hundred doughnuts. Then, overnight, the craze was done. People wanted Chinese characters they didn’t know the meaning of, or ‘mother’ written in script. Marie left, taking the fake bakes with her. No more doughnuts. Cupcakes were in.